


I Could Have Danced All Night

by baegin_ae



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7566766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baegin_ae/pseuds/baegin_ae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bet was for Gimli to spend one hour in the Greenleaf club.  Not to make an interesting connection with a strange man with blond hair...</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Have Danced All Night

He couldn’t believe Fili and Kili had tricked him into this. He should know better than to take a dare from those two, and now he was stuck at the poshest club in town, had to stay inside for an hour or else the bet was forfeit. Gimli took another sip from his glass, refusing to get drunk at this place. He hated the atmosphere of The Greenwood. It was too well lit, for one, the walls a light green and brown. He could see all the way across the club from the bar to the far wall. The dancers pulsing under soft pastel highlights were easily visible as a thick writhing mass. It was nothing like Erebor, where the comforting darkness of the building allowed clubbers to sink into anonymity where anything could happen. Erebor was secretive and mysterious, tunnels between open rooms of dancing and drinking. This place was like a spotlight trying to draw you out of your comfort zone where Erebor was a cavern trying to draw you in. 

A girl tittered at the end of the bar and Gimli looked up, catching her eye. He grunted, turning away and putting his back at the bar to look out over the rest of the club. He didn’t need some rich snob to tell him he didn’t belong here. For god’s sake, there were people dancing in polo shirts and sun dresses. Gimli didn’t try to hide his leather pants or his full beard or his septum piercing. Fuck these assholes. 

He checked his watch again. It had only been ten minutes since he stumbled into the club and entrenched himself at the bar. He took another long swig of his beer and nearly choked when a light hand came to rest on his shoulder, stroking it slightly. “Don’t you stick out like a sore thumb then.” He turned to find a tall man behind him, long blond hair pulled away from his face with two simple braids. He was smirking, an unfriendly twist of lips and the liquid in Gimli’s belly churned in anger. 

“Better a sore thumb than a smarmy elf.” The man tilted his head. He hadn’t removed his hand from Gimli’s shoulder but he refused to feel uncomfortable under the gaze. Then the man smiled again, baring his teeth at Gimli. 

“You should dance.” Gimli raised his eyebrows at the non sequitur but it just made the man’s smile widen into a disturbing cheshire grin. “A dance would definitely loosen you up.”

Gimli snorted, turning back into the bar. This asshole probably thought he would make a fool out of Gimli, have a good laugh at the weird little man sitting alone at the bar. “I’m not in the habit of dancing with strangers,” he growled, already lifting his bottle to his lips. 

A lean hand snapped out and grabbed the bottle from him. He was so surprised he let it slip through, watched as the man pursed his lips on the rim, tilted his head back and took a long swig, adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed. He put the bottle back onto the bar and slid out from the space next to Gimli. “Good thing I’m not too strange then.” Gimli sat and stared as the man took a few steps forward before turning around and lifting one perfectly trimmed eyebrow, nasty smirk back on his lips, as if to say, well?

If that’s the way he wanted to play it, then fine. Gimli pushed himself off from the bar stool. The man looked like he wanted to laugh at the way he only came up to his middle but Gimli just pushed past him to the throbbing dance floor.

There was some daft punk-esque song playing, all loud beats and electronic pulsing. Gimli closed his eyes and bobbed to the music, finding the rhythm. He could feel the man standing next to him, close in the space left for them on the floor, but he ignored it, reached down into himself until the music was pumping his heart for him. He started to dance.

At Erebor Gimli worked as a bouncer. He had the muscles for it and he was particularly good at pinning handsy men to the wall and kicking out their knees. He knew he didn’t look like the most graceful man in the world, short stocky build all hard muscles and impenetrable angles. But when he wasn’t working, Gimli danced. He danced like the music possessed him, like there was nothing else but this. He knew the moment he outclassed the man challenging him, knew with the gyrations of his hips and the flying of his feet that he had proven his point. He could step off the floor now, go back to his bar stool and sulk for the next forty minutes until Fili let him out. And then, the man moved. He moved like every limb was an extension of his core down to the whipping of each strand of hair. He matched Gimli move for move, his smirk high on his face, his eyes dancing as much as his feet. It was on.

They circled each other in movements bigger and bigger, coming together and pulling away, seamlessly fitting their moves beside each other. The songs transitioned and they kept moving, sliding into different steps and new beats. Gimli’s heart pounded and he couldn’t stop staring at the man, his arms as they conducted the movement of his body, his feet as they pounded against the ground and the man kept his own eyes firmly on Gimli, blue spotlights taking everything he gave out and returning it right back. He could feel sweat beading through his hairline, dripping down his forehead. His pants were becoming sticky and uncomfortable but he moved through the chafing, changed his steps until the pressure lessened and the man followed, complimenting his powerful moves with his own lithe style. Gimli lost himself to the pounding of the music and the roaring of his blood through liquid muscles and the sinuous movement they made weaving between each other. He heard a wolf whistle and his next step faltered. Gimli looked around to find a small circle open around himself and the man, a ring of spectators dancing along and watching avidly. Shit. He had attracted too much attention to himself. He wasn’t even supposed to be anywhere near here. 

Gimli slowed his steps and stopped, chest heaving for breath. Next to him the man brought his own movements to an end, a faint line of red splotching over his cheeks as he tried to suck in breath. The crowd, recognizing the end of the show, began to morph back together until Gimli and the man were standing stationary rocked by the waves of the crowd. 

The man caught Gimli’s eye and smiled, a softer more natural up-turn of his lips. “You’re not so bad, for a sore thumb,” he said, just a hint of teasing in his tone. Gimli was still too wound up, still too in the moment to know what to say. After waiting a beat, the man seemed to take his silence as dismissal and turned away to leave. Without thinking, Gimli shot his arm out and grabbed him by the elbow. His fingers curled completely around the man’s arm. 

The man stared down at his hand, his brow furrowed as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of this. Before he could over think himself, Gimli reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card for Erebor, thrusting it at the man. “You should try it yourself sometime.” The stranger smiled again, taking the card delicately between two fingers. Then he slipped from Gimli’s grip and melted into the crowd. If only he were a little taller, Gimli might have seen where he was going. A woman jostled her hip against him and Gimli finally snapped back to reality, sliding out of the dancers and back on the path towards the bar. He looked down briefly to check his watch. Shit. Shit shit shit it was 2:16, almost 30 minutes after the hour he had promised Fili and Kili.

Cursing, he strode to the entrance, pushing past a group of enthusiastic frat boys just entering the club. The shock of cool air that hit him outside was enough to dispel the last of the madness that had overcome him in the club. He could see his cousins on the corner arguing furiously with each other and he quickly made his way to them. “Alright then lads?” he asked, thumping them hard on the backs. They jumped and he chuckled.

“God Gimli, what took you so long?”

“We thought someone had taken you out back and we’d have to go in and rescue you.”

Gimli slung his arms over their shoulders and began leading them around the corner. “Nothing to worry about, just wanted to make you two sweat it out a bit.”

He let their chatter wash over him, giving them all the lurid details about the club that they asked for and enjoying their noises of disgust. He didn’t tell them about the man with the blonde hair or the empty space in his jacket where Erebor’s card used to be.

Gimli did his best not to think about it. He did not walk past The Greenwood again, nor did he look up every time he spotted a shock of blond hair. He worked at Erebor, ate meals with his family, and danced with friends and regulars. Dwalin made him take a break two weeks into his new regime, grumbling that his glowering face was scaring away more than the unwelcome customers. Gimli found himself with a rare Friday night off, pestering Bofur behind the bar and chatting with some of the customers who stopped by. This was more his scene, more his place to be. A girl with a flaming tattoo from the tips of her fingers into her hairline was flirting with him while a man without a shirt held her around the waist. This was what clubbing should be like, meeting strange and interesting people, forming loose connections that might not last the night or might continue for the rest of your life, harmless fun amid the dim lights and pounding rhythms of the building. Bofur swatted him on the bum with his towel as he passed and Gimli automatically turned, ready to catch it and smack him back when he saw a curtain of bright blonde leaning over the bar on the other side of the room. He stood still for a moment, not sure if he was just being paranoid, but then the head sat back and he could see the proud, upturned nose and the vicious smirk on his Stranger’s face. He took a beer from Bofur, one of those light concoctions mixed with raspberry or something like that, then turned so that he faced the rest of the room, his eyes scanning lightly over the crowd. Gimli couldn’t help the smirk that took over his own face. _Well I’ll be damned,_ he thought, _the lad has got some stones._ Excusing himself from the woman and her date, Gimli made his way over, making sure to blend into the crowd whenever the Stranger’s eyes swept in his direction. He caught him when he was squinting into the corner, a mouthful of beer waiting in his cheeks.

“You stick out like a sore thumb, there lad.” To his great pleasure, the Stranger jumped slightly, making a choking sound as he inhaled his beer. Gimli chuckled while the man attempted to get his breath back, occasionally thumping him on the back strongly and jarring him forwards. The man glared at him, but tempered it with a sly smile. 

“Better a sore thumb than a stout old dwarf” he retorted. Gimli let out a chortle, drawing the attention of Bofur who titled his head curiously at them. Gimli felt exposed, suddenly on display when he didn’t want his family to notice. 

“Come on then,” he said, grabbing Stranger’s hand and pulling him away from the bar. “Let’s see if that fancy footwork of yours can stand up to a real club.” 

The man made no move to pull away, but he raised his brow again. “I don’t think it's wise to dance with strangers.” 

Gimli snorted, “Good thing I’m not a stranger then, am I?” The man followed Gimli to the dim dance floor, which looked like one large mass of limbs and heads. Just before they reached the crowd, Stranger leapt nimbly past him, slipping his hand from Gimli’s grasp. He was already moving to the beat, his hips swaying provocatively and his feet flashing back and forth. He raised one sculpted brow expectantly at Gimli, that wicked smirk all teeth under his lips. Gimli shook himself from the moment and followed.

It was even better than he remembered, the synchronous movements, the give and take between them. This time there was no pretence of dancing on their own. They moved in and out of each other’s space, hands grasping and pulling, hips rubbing, bodies colliding. Gimli could feel the crowd making space already but he didn’t care, just focused on the man’s movements, on matching him stride for stride, fitting his own more steady style into his Stranger’s fluid rapidity. 

He would have danced all night with him if given half the chance, but an eternity later his Stranger was grabbing him by the hands, slowing their frantic pace into a gentle swaying motion and leading Gimli off the dance floor. They took a moment catching their breath standing off to the side. Gimli was entranced by the way sweat clung to his Stranger’s eyelashes, dripping every so often and forcing him to blink rapidly. Then the familiar smirk was back and the man leaned in towards him, their chests pressed together as he slid his cheek next to Gimli’s. “I hadn’t finished my beer yet.” He pulled back, looking down at Gimli expectantly. Gimli shook his head slightly. Right. Drinks. He started walking back to the bar, noticing how the man had not relinquished his grip on Gimli’s hand. He ordered a stout for himself and an appletini for the man, who simply raised his eyebrow when the drinks came and took a long pull from his glass. Gimli felt utterly entranced. He could not take his eyes off of the man, and the man seemed to be having a similar problem with Gimli. They stood at the bar drinking while staring into each other’s eyes until Gimli could not handle the intimacy any longer. He knocked back the rest of his drink and grabbed the man’s hand again. “Come on now, that should be plenty to slake your thirst.” 

He thought he heard the man snort, “Not hardly,” but he dutifully finished the last of his drink and allowed Gimli to pull him back to the dance floor. The next few hours were a blur. He and the man danced increasingly closer as the night went on, flowing from one song into the next, letting the crowd swell and thin around them as people came and went. Gimli felt under a spell. The man looked at him with half-lidded eyes, his movements almost boneless as they brought their bodies together. Their dancing ended more naturally this time, both of them tried, their movements slower and less graceful. They found themselves pressed together swaying gently to the beat. The man took a deep breath in, resting his forehead against Gimli’s and closing his eyes for a moment. Then he stepped back, disentangling his body from Gimli’s entirely. He felt the loss like a physical ache beneath his skin. He opened his mouth to speak but Gimli could not hear over the deafening of the music. He watched the man’s lips take shape, what looked like a saucy, “Your turn master dwarf” and then he was stepping backwards, letting himself be consumed by the crowd. Gimli did not attempt to follow him. He knew how this game was to be played. After a few moments, he made his way back to the bar. Bofur gave him a curious look but he just grunted and accepted another beer. The flame-lady and her date had already left. Gimli sat in the corner and contemplated his next night off.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this like three years ago (at work lol), with the idea of making it a longer piece, but then I gave up. Found it again recently and thought it wasn't half bad, so might as well post it. Also I've only ever been to a club once soooo, take this with a grain of salt... Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
